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With her watching me, I expect her to panic, become embarrassed, and close the door, but she stares right back at me with a confidence I didn’t know she was capable of.

What the fuck?

My cock twitches to life, and I swallow thickly as it stiffens, then I jolt and quickly turn to give her my back. I slam my palms against the tiles.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

This is Immie, for Christ’s sake.

My Immie.

The sweet, innocent girl I rescued from sex traffickers.

Disgust rushes through me, but among the haze of my thoughts, her calling me “Daddy” taunts me, and my balls pull tight. Rather than feeling disgust, excitement races through me, zipping up my spine and igniting something inside me I wasn’t aware I was capable of feeling.

“Fuck,” I grunt, glowering at the tiles in front of me. Not Immie, fuck no. “Fuck!” I slam my palms onto the tiles.

A lump gathers in my throat, and I will myself to look over my shoulder. Is she still there? She left, right?

I swallow the lump and glance beneath my arm, and sure enough, her attention is fixed on me, daring and enticing.

My gaze darts to her parted lips.

This is bad, so fucking bad.

“Can you shut the fucking door?” I choke out.

She jerks and averts her gaze, then closes the door. The click forces my eyes closed. What the hell was that?

“Jesus,” I pant out. Something has changed in Immie, and with that challenge in her eyes, she’s becoming the girl I always knew she’d be.

JENSEN

EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO …

Immie rests her head in my lap, and I stroke her soft curls. After Amanda exploded about me opting to stay in and order takeout above a night in one of La Familia’s clubs, I’ve been holed up in the family room with Immie watching movies. Though, if I’m being honest, I’m not really watching. My mind is reeling from the drama that ensued on my return.

I don’t know why Amanda is so set on me joining her on a night out every time I come home. No, that’s a lie. I do. She likes the attention it brings her with me on her arm. The notoriety within our society. It’s a shame she doesn’t uphold the same standards when I’m not here. I rarely make an appearance at public events anymore, especially given the fact that I work for another Mafia family. The last thing I want to do is draw attention to that.

Besides, after seeing so much violence and darkness, I’m happy here in the sanctuary of our home.

It’s funny, despite Amanda and I being married on paper, I don’t feel like a married man at all, and if she were honest with herself, she doesn’t feel like a married woman either. If she did, she wouldn’t be fucking around the way she does. Not that I care; it simply means I get to do the same whenever I have the urge. That’s not something I do much lately, especially after witnessing some of the horrors within the auction house.

“Jensen?”

I look at Immie, and her blue eyes shine with concern.

“Hmm?” I stroke her face. Touching her grounds me, and not in any other way than I feel a connection and need to protect her. She’s the center of my chaotic world, my calm.

“I wish you didn’t keep leaving,” she whispers.

Why does the thought of her wanting me around so much make my chest fill with pride?

“I’ve only just arrived home.”

“But I don’t want you to leave already.”

I use the backs of my fingers to brush the stray hairs from her face. “I have a job to do, Little Nightmare. You know that.”